


LBD

by ll_again



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Date, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 07:42:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10917375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ll_again/pseuds/ll_again
Summary: Of course it was a total disaster. Why had she expected anything else?





	LBD

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so I wasn't going to participate in Sherlolly Appreciation Week because I am shit at prompts (and doing them within a reasonable amount of time), but [this](https://elennemigo.tumblr.com/post/160707193764/sherlolly-appreciation-week-2017-day-2-first-date) lovely gifset kept popping up on my dash and this fic fell out of my fingers. So here you go.

 

"Sherlock Holmes," Molly wheezed through clenched teeth, "I am going to kill you."

"Run now. Save the murder plots for later," was Sherlock's flippant response.

His hand tightened around hers while his head swiveled from side to side as he slowed, searching their surroundings. Molly stumbled to a stop, breathing heavily as she tried to catch her breath.

"This way!" Sherlock said only a second later, all but dragging her behind him as he darted off again.

In her desperate bid to keep up with his longer strides, Molly stubbed her toe, hissing in pain and fleetingly hoping that it wasn't broken. Her heels had been abandoned at the start of their flight. Her pantyhose were in tatters. And she. Was. Going. To.

**Murder**. Sherlock. Holmes.

Her flights of vengeful fancy were interrupted as Sherlock took a sharp turn to the left. "In here!" And ducked into a hidden alcove.

Behind them, a gunshot rang out.

At nearly the exact same instant, Molly's feet failed her and she tripped, falling heavily onto Sherlock's back.

"Molly!" There was genuine panic in Sherlock's voice as he twisted, sliding her into his arms somehow with that graceful ease that was second nature to him, and very carefully lowered her to the cold concrete. "Are you hurt?" His hands fluttered over her torso, ghosting over the tips of her breasts.

Molly gasped despite herself, as even that accidental touch set her alight. Sherlock's hands continued lower, with gentle, prodding touches while he checked her over. But Molly couldn't maintain a clinical mindset. When he reached her waist, she groaned out loud.

"Fuck," Sherlock said. In seven years, she'd never heard him use that word, and right now he sounded terrified. "Fuck." His voice and his hands were shaking. He parted the fabric of her skirt, right at the slit, gripped one side in each hand, and then there was a terrific ripping sound as he split the seam, tearing it nearly to the arm hole.

"I'm fine!" Molly squeaked, too late to save her dress.

Sherlock opened up her dress, spreading a still trembling hand over the smooth, unmarred skin of her belly. "Fuck, Molly," he breathed like a benediction, "I thought..." And then he leaned down, pressing his lips to the soft swell next to her navel.

This was not at all the way Molly would have preferred to expose that rather squishy bit of her anatomy to Sherlock. But if she was being honest, this scenario – or something similar – had certainly occurred to her as a possibility. It was Sherlock, after all.

Molly threaded her fingers into the mass of curls at her hip. "I'm fine," she said again. "I tripped, that's all."

Sherlock sat up suddenly, pulling her up with him. His hands cupped her face, forestalling her attempts to rearrange her torn dress so that she wasn't _practically naked_ in the middle of some dirty London alley.

"I love you, Molly Hooper," he said solemnly. Then he swooped down and kissed her, taking full advantage of her slack jawed shock.

To her credit, Molly recovered from her brain's sudden short circuiting in record time, and she gave as good as she got. Sherlock made a strangled noise, pressing closer for a moment, before he slowly, reluctantly, disentangled his lips from hers, dropping a few, lingering pecks against her panting mouth as he drew away.

"I love you," he said. Sherlock's eyes were open wide, pupils blown so that only a thin strip of his fascinating irises were visible. His gaze never wavered from her face.

"You _ruined_ my dress," Molly said, because she couldn't think of anything else.

At the mention of it, Sherlock's eyes wandered lower. His head tilted to the side, and the exact expression he got when he was inspecting a particularly interesting cadaver settled over his face as he contemplated the bared parts of her skin.

Molly squeaked, pulling the torn edges together as best she could, and narrowed her eyes at him.

Sherlock's gaze shifted uncertainly, and he pulled out his phone. "Do keep it down, Molly," he said as he started to type. "There's a gun-toting madman out there looking for us."

Molly shifted a bit closer to peek at the text he was typing: _Shots fired. Send help_. Then the GPS coordinates of their current location.

"I lost my purse," Molly said suddenly.

Sherlock flipped his phone around in his hand a few times, nervously, then finally tucked it back in his pocket. "You left it at the restaurant. Pierre will look after it," he said, naming their waiter, who was effusively grateful to Sherlock for once rescuing his cat from a tree.

Molly sighed, drawing her knees up to her chest and grimacing when the movement opened up the rip in her dress again. "Are we safe here?"

"Should be, as long as we don't make too much noise." The alcove they were sat in was mostly hidden behind a dumpster and some boxes, which meant it didn't smell great, but also that Sherlock was probably right. "You're cold," he said, shrugging out of his Belstaff. "Here."

Molly let him drape the heavy wool around her shoulders and slipped her arms into the too long sleeves, fumbling a little to close the fabric around her front. She even let him tuck her against his side when he settled against the wall to wait.

"I am sorry," Sherlock said quietly. "I wasn't expecting a gun."

"Shut up, Sherlock," she said. "Or I'll be forced to beat you to a pulp, and that's not the way I was planning to murder you."

Sherlock beamed down at her.

Molly leaned her cheek against his shoulder, contrasting the finer wool of his suit jacket with the rougher feel of his coat. "We were supposed to have dinner," she grumped, poking him firmly in the side. "This was _supposed_ to be a date."

"It is a date!" Sherlock hissed back, as if he barely remembered to keep his voice down. "And we were going to have dinner, but you-!"

Molly pushed his arm off of her waist and sat up, twisting to glare at him. " _Me_?" she said. "You're the one who dragged us out of the restaurant before we even got to sit down."

"Well I wouldn't have had to if you'd worn something else," Sherlock said sullenly. "Anything else. Nothing, actually, would have been preferable."

Molly shifted uncomfortably, digging a finger under the collar of Sherlock's coat to adjust the silver sequined strap of her ruined dress. "It was the only thing I had."

"You have lots of dresses."

"I know that," Molly snapped. "But it's the only thing I had that's suitable for a posh restaurant." Sherlock scoffed at that, and she capitulated, fidgeting again with the strap of her dress. "I didn't think you would remember it."

A pained look crossed his face. "I tried to delete it," he said. "But I couldn't. You were so beautiful. Not because of the dress," he added quickly. "It's a rubbish dress."

Molly sighed in exasperation. "Because I told you off?"

"Yes." Sherlock looked down. "I was a berk, and I'm sorry."

"Get used to saying that," Molly said dryly. "You ruined my dress on purpose didn't you?"

Sherlock peeked up at her through his curls. "No?" he said in a tone that meant he thought he could get away with the lie because technically he'd been planning to destroy her dress some other way.

"Oh for Gods sake, Sherlock," she said as she crawled back to re-tuck herself against his side. "If the dress bothered you that much, you could have just asked me to change."

There was a moment of buffering. "Really?"

"Only when there's a good reason," Molly said. "And by my standards, I mean. Not yours."

"Noted."

Molly huffed. "I'm starving."

Sherlock was quiet for a minute. "There are some mints in my coat pocket."

Pushing up the sleeve, Molly dug around in there, producing a handful of mints bearing the name of the restaurant they'd abandoned, that Sherlock had clearly grabbed just before launching them into this wild quest to ruin her dress. "You are a berk," she said.

"And I'm sorry," Sherlock recited dutifully.

Molly handed him a mint. They lapsed into silence while they sucked on the candies.

"The yellow one is my favorite," Sherlock said. Molly tilted her head back to look up at him curiously. Sherlock cleared his throat. "If you want to try again. Tomorrow night?"

Molly beamed at him.

Carefully, Sherlock bent down and settled his mouth over hers. Molly had just slid her tongue over his lower lip, seeking that needy little sound he'd made before when they heard voices calling Sherlock's name.

"Lestrade," Sherlock said as he lifted his head. "And the cavalry." He didn't sound happy to have it arrive.

But their hidey hole was cold, and smelly, and by common consensus they decided to postpone their snogging session until they could secure a better venue. Donovan took one look at Molly and swept her off to the paramedics to get checked out, throwing a dirty glare over her shoulder at Sherlock as she did.

Lestrade sauntered over to Sherlock, hands in his trouser pockets, and watched the women walk away. "Molly is going to kill you," he said, not entirely joking.

Sherlock grinned. "There's no one else I'd rather be murdered by."

**Author's Note:**

> I think Sherlock is literally talking about being murdered by Molly, but he also might be making a 'la petite mort' sex joke and I don't know what to do with that. O.o
> 
> I have no idea why I have headcanon that Sherlock hates the dress Molly wore in ASiB, but I think he prefers her in clothes that suit her better, even if they aren't particularly fashionable. Plus Molly really looks awful in it. Not because Loo couldn't totally rock that dress, because she could. But *Molly* is so uncomfortable wearing it that she doesn't look nearly as good in it as the other dresses she wears later on in the series. It's both a testament to Loo's acting chops and the costume department that they managed to layer on an 'uncomfortable in these clothes' bit of awkwardness that you can actually pick out distinctly from Molly's overall nervousness about being at the party.
> 
> I, like Sherlock, prefer Molls in yellow. (Well, okay, Sherlock prefers Molly naked, but you know. ^.~)


End file.
